The Patron Saint of Butterflies(72)
“Now?” Lillian asks.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Right now. We can’t waste another minute.”
AGNES
Thirty thousand feet below me, the world looks like a patchwork quilt. I press my forehead against the smooth bit of window next to me and stare at the different squares of green, the rectangular fields of gold, teardrop-shaped swimming pools, and narrow rivulets of water, which, even from this distance, I know are moving. A strange sensation builds inside of me as I peer at the miniature topography below. I don’t know what it is at first, maybe fear, maybe trepidation, maybe just anxiety. I reach around, pulling my shirt up a little to remove my book before I realize it’s not there. Panic fills me like water. Where is it? Suddenly I remember throwing it across the bathroom floor in Lillian’s house. How could I have forgotten to go back and get it before we left?
The plane dips to the right suddenly, turning in a wide arc, and my stomach falls with it. I close my eyes and bite my tongue, trying to push the photograph of Dad and Lillian out of my mind’s eye. Why did he call her Naomi just before we left? It will be a two-hour flight back to Newark Airport in New Jersey. Dad says that someone from Mount Blessing will be waiting there to pick us up for the two-hour ride back. I wonder if my heart will survive the distance.
I glance down the row we are seated in. Dad is on the edge, his feet sprawled in the aisle. His chin is propped against his hand and he is staring pointedly at the seat in front of him, lost in thought. Mom is next, her head on Dad’s shoulder, small hands loose and open in her lap.
I look over at Benny, who is sitting cross-legged in his seat, although Mom has already told him twice that he can’t sit that way. He has taken his seat belt off and is fiddling with his shoelace. He’s also rocking back and forth. But at least he’s not humming.
I nudge him a little with my elbow.
“Hey,” I whisper, jerking my head toward the window. “You wanna see something?”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“You don’t? It’s kind of amazing. Come on, get up here on my lap and you can look.”
Benny doesn’t move.
“You might not be able to see it again, if you don’t.”
His finger stops twirling his shoelace as he glances over at the window. I can see the fear in his eyes, behind his glasses. I put my arm around his shoulder. “Come on, Benny. Right here. Right on my lap. Come and look.”
He crawls over slowly, peering out the tiny window with a rigid expression on his face.
I point with my finger. “See over there? That tiny little blue circle? That’s someone’s pool.” I grin as Benny’s eyes widen. “I know! It’s so tiny, right? Can you believe it? It looks like a pin!” He nods. “And look over there. See that dark little winding thing? The one that goes up and down, all over? I think that’s a train track. Like a real train would run on.” Benny nods, his face getting pink. “Look over there, at those little red dots. I’m pretty sure those are barns. Just like the horse barn at Mount Blessing.”
But Benny’s face darkens at the mention of Mount Blessing. He crawls back off my lap and rearranges his legs so they are crossed over each other again.
I watch as he starts to rock back and forth, fiddling once more with his shoelace. Leaning my head against the window, I fight back tears. God, I miss her. Oh my God, it’s been only three hours and I miss her. A tear rolls down the side of my face and I lift my hand to wipe it.
But Benny reaches out as I do and pulls my hand into his. Without looking at me, he lifts up the armrest between us, scooches himself down against my thigh, and curls around it like a little squirrel.
At the airport, I spot the midnight blue Honda Accord with the sunroof on top and the orange rust stains along the edge of the front wheels, and something settles a little in my stomach. I’ve never been inside Claudia’s car before, but I’ve seen it a hundred times parked alongside the Field House. Its familiarity is comforting. Dad gets in the front with Claudia, while Mom arranges herself between Benny and me in the back. The car smells like peanuts and lemon peel. There is a tiny rubber hummingbird hanging down from the rearview mirror. It swings gently from side to side as the car begins to move.
Dad talks the entire time about getting back to work at the mattress place, what he had to tell his boss about the time off he took, and the possible sales he missed during his absence. He’s worried about not making his monthly quota. Claudia listens next to him, her jaw clenched so tightly I wonder if she will crack her teeth. I reach down and unzip the front pocket of my book bag, looking for the pink barrette. I just want to hold it. But my fingers come into contact with something else, something flat. I pull out the Polaroids as carefully as I can, staring at the pictures of Honey’s lacerated back with horror. Where did these come from? And how did they find their way into my bag? Did she do this? Is this how she wants me to remember her? Mom turns her head, glancing in my direction, and I hide the pictures as quickly as I can under my leg, away from her prying eyes.
Claudia cuts Dad off midsentence suddenly, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “How’s Benny’s hand, Agnes?”
Mom shifts uncomfortably in her seat and looks over at me. Dad frowns at Claudia and then gives me a look.
“Oh, it’s great,” he answers for me. “I checked it out just a little while ago.” He gives a short, harsh laugh. “I can’t tell anymore which is Emmanuel’s work and what they did in the hospital, but it looks pretty good, I’ll tell you that.”